The Feeling of Freedom
by Gingerninjaunicorn
Summary: Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban with a murderous young woman who's never known freedom
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey there, welcome to my first ever posted fic, 'The Feeling of Freedom' and this is a very big thing for me because I'm extremely shy about anything I write. Please point out any spelling/grammatical/factual errors, thanks. **

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from the Harry Potter world belongs to JKR, not me.**

**Summary: Sirius Black escapes from Azkaban with a murderous young woman who's never known freedom. **

**Timeline: Flint goes to Azkaban in 1980, when she's 15. Escapes in 1993 with Sirius when she's 28. Sirius: Goes to Azkaban in 1981 when he's 21. Escapes in 1993 as canon, when he's 33. **

Prologue 

**1980**

"Did you hear the news?" a very pregnant Lily Potter asked hotly, entering the kitchen of her home where her husband and his best friend sat at the table playing Exploding Snap.  
"What news?" James Potter, minus his eyebrows, asked. Usually Lily would have laughed at the sight of her husband's singed, slightly bewildered expression, but today the redhead had an angry scowl on her face.  
"Jemima Flint went to Azkaban today," she told the two men, who shared a look of confusion.  
"Friend of yours?" Sirius asked mockingly. Lily shot him a dirty look.  
"I'm not surprised neither of you remember her," she huffed, throwing the newspaper she'd been holding down onto the table between the two men. A photo of a ratty looking girl with inky black hair and smudges of kohl eyeliner under her eyes –which gleamed savagely up at them –grinned dangerously on the front page of the paper.  
"She was five years below us at Hogwarts. Lovely girl. _Horrible _temper," Lily told them. "And they're sending her to Azkaban, for life, without even a trail! She's only fifteen years old, for Merlin's sake!"  
"What'd she do?" James asked, pulling the paper –which was headlined 'Death Eater's daughter to spend life behind bars' toward him.  
"Apparently," Lily said, as if she believed it was all rubbish, "she killed her mother, sister and one of her brothers. It's still no reason to send someone to _Azkaban _without a trial!"  
"Says here she was found standing over their bodies with a bloody brick. She – yuck – beat their heads in," Sirius scrunched up his nose as he read aloud.  
"Yuck," James agreed, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Aren't the Flint's friends of your family, Pads?"  
"Probably," Sirius muttered. "I know I've wanted to beat my relatives to death more than once."  
James' lips twitched into a smirk and soon the two young men were laughing.  
"Life in Azkaban is nothing to laugh about," Lily scolded, snatching up the paper and storming out of the room.

**1981**

"I'M INNOCENT!" Sirius bellowed, but his cries fell on deaf ears. "I'M AN INNOCENT MAN; YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"  
His cell was tiny. There was a rickety bed on one wall and a toilet on the other.  
"I'M AN INNOCENT MAN, HELP ME!"  
"THEY DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE INNCOENT OR NOT AND I'M TRYING TO BLOODY THINK SO CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?"  
It was a girl's voice yelling back at him, young and angry and surprisingly close, mayhap from a neighbouring cell. Sirius fell back against the wall and he slid down it, head in hands.  
"I'm an innocent man," he whispered to the oppressing darkness. "I'm innocent."  
But there was no one to listen.

Sirius awoke to the sound of singing. He's been in Azkaban for a day and a night already and already he could feel his sanity draining away. There was a pounding ache in his head that he didn't know how he's gotten or why, and his cheeks were wet with tears for his lost friends.  
Sirius stood, cracking his stiff joints, an ache in his stomach. Some time while he slept a tray had been shoved into his cell, on it a bowl of some sort of soup and two pieces of stale bread. As hungry as he was, Sirius didn't dare touch the stone cold, cement like soup and instead wolfed down the bread like he's never eat again. In this place, who knew?  
"It's not that bad, you know," said a voice behind him. Sirius spun around, thinking he'd gone mad already and instead saw the grimy face of the inmate in the cell next to him peering at him through a small barred window at the top of the stone wall that separated their cells. It was a girl, young looking, probably the one who'd yelled and swore at him when he first arrived, her face half hidden by a mane of greasy dark hair, dark green eyes gazing at him with barely concealed amusement.  
"The gruel," she told him. "It's not that bad. Although I suppose in this place you'll eat anything if you're hungry enough. Just make sure you eat it before it eats you," she grinned, leant back and yelled, "Welcome to Azkaban Prison, the home of the criminally insane and the insane criminals!" and a chorus of "Shut it, Flint, we're trying to sleep!" rang out from the nearby cells.  
"Aren't you going to answer me?" the girl asked, leaning forward and pressing her face to the bars, voice mockingly sweet, and Sirius thought she might have been laughing at him. "You were yelling loud enough when you came in, and conversation helps keep you sane. I have this conversation with myself all the time, you know."  
She was definitely laughing at him, Sirius realized, and he couldn't help but mutter back, "My apologies, I was startled into silence by how incredibly ugly you are."  
To his surprise, she laughed, and said through rather insane giggles, "You're funny. I like you."  
"Glad to know I'm still funny," Sirius muttered, kicking the foot of the rickety bed and wondered if it would collapse under his weight the next time he lay on it. "Since I suspect my ravaging good looks with disintegrate during my stay here."  
"Probably," the girl agreed. "Mine did, leaving so incredibly ugly. I'm Jem, by the way. Jem Flint."  
"Sirius Black," he offered, aware that the name he hated so much would be plastered across newspapers declaring him a murderer and a Death Eater.  
"What did you do?"  
"Do?"  
"To get chucked in here, Black. I doubt you came to stay for the five star accommodation and fine dining."  
"They say I'm a Death Eater," he whispered. "They say I handed two of my best friends over to Voldemort and killed another along with twelve muggles."  
"Did you?"  
"No."  
A moment of silence. Then -  
"They say that in a fit of murderous insanity I accidentally killed my mother, sister and brother."  
"Did you?"  
"It was no insane rage. I knew _exactly _what I was doing."  
Sirius was silent, and Jem Flint began to sing.

**1982**

"Hey, Sirius guess what?"  
Sirius, or rather Padfoot, perked his ears up at the familiar voice and the shaggy black dog transformed into a man.  
"You've figured out how to escape this hellhole?" he asked, pulling himself up to the window so he could look into Flint's cell.  
Sirius had been in Azkaban for seven months, and in that time he'd formed an odd sort of friendship with the murderess in the cell next door. They would spend the long, cold nights talking about everything from escape routes to kittens and Sirius was sure she was the only thing keeping him sane.  
"Escape? Oh, god no," Flint answered, leaning her head back against the wall. "It's my birthday."  
Sirius snorted. "I'll make you a cake."  
"I'm seventeen," she continued. Sirius was surprised; he'd always assumed she was in her early to mid-twenties, but he didn't say anything. When he had turned seventeen, James' parents had thrown him a massive party with plenty of alcohol and presents, and his Uncle Al had given him a fortune, and Sirius felt a stab of pity for the young girl spending hers behind bars.  
"You're younger than I thought you were," he said finally. "I'd always assumed you were my age."  
"Which is?"  
"Twenty-one. Wait, I'd be twenty-two now."  
"You're older than I thought. Also, you act like a twelve year old."  
"Hey!"  
Flint just laughed, and hummed that insufferable song she was always singing about blackbirds under her breath.

**1986**

It was windy when they took Flint away.  
The howling reminded Sirius of Moony, and he'd been dangerously depressing himself by thinking about his lost friends when the rusty hinges of Flint's cell door creaked open and he heard her cheerfully greeting someone. Sirius hoisted himself up to their window, where he could see two guards – two _human _guards –enter the room and advance on Flint, who backed away with a wild look of panic in her dark green eyes.  
"You're being transferred to another cell," one of the guards informed her.  
"Why?" Flint asked sharply, looking rather like a cornered animal.  
"This cell is needed for a high-risk prisoner."  
"You're taking her away?" Sirius growled, pressing his face to the bars of the shared window.  
"No!" Flint shied away from the guards. "You can't! Please, don't!"  
The guards glanced to Sirius, then to Flint and a shared look of comprehension grew on their faces.  
"Sorry, sweetheart," one of the guards stepped forward and drew shackles from his belt, "but we're going to have to take you away from your lover boy."  
"No!" Flint cried as he grabbed her and let his partner shackle her. "Sirius! You can't let them do this – SIRIUS!"  
"FLINT!" he yelled, shaking the bars of the window. "FLINT! JEM!"  
He realised it was the first time he had ever spoken her first name but didn't have time to think on it; they were dragging her away, and the last glimpse he got of her was a swish of black hair and she was gone, the cell door banging close behind her.  
He could hear her yelling all the way down the corridor – "Don't take me away from him, he's the only thing that keeps me sane – PLEASE! SIRIUS!" but eventually even her voice faded away into the background, and she was gone.  
And in the ringing silence that followed Sirius could feel his sanity slipping away.

**So that's the prologue. First chapter on the way. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome, flames make me laugh. **

**-GNU**


	2. Escape

**A/N: Thanks to twibe for reviewing and Sarapha for the kind PM I received.**

**Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to JKR. **

**Chapter One: Escape**

**1993**

"Hogwarts," the sleeping man muttered restlessly, "He's at Hogwarts. I've got to get to Hogwarts!"  
A familiar ratty face swum before his vision and he jolted awake as a tortured scream came from somewhere below him. Sirius Black rolled over and hugged his arms around himself for warmth, the torn newspaper clipping that was forever clutched in his right hand crackling. In the darkness the sound it made was loud, and it rung in Sirius' ears as he sat up, straightened the clipping and traced the familiar rat sitting on the ginger boy's shoulder.  
Peter Pettigrew, the traitor, was at Hogwarts. As was his godson, Harry Potter, the boy who lived. Sirius was an intelligent man. He could put two and two together and he knew that Harry wasn't safe while Pettigrew was there, masquerading as a rat.  
"S'about time I fulfil my duties as godfather," Sirius muttered to himself, as a strangled scream came from close by. He hated nights in Azkaban, and the incessant screaming that came with them. As the thought passed his mind, the cell that had once been Flint's shook with the nightmarish howl of the man within.  
"Shut up!" Sirius yelled through the bars, to no avail. The man was a screamer, and in the seven years he'd been there it had steadily gotten worse and worse. Flint hadn't been a screamer, Sirius reflected. She'd sung for hours on end sometimes, the same song looping over and over again and as annoying as it had been she'd had a sweet voice so it was tolerable.  
None of the screamers had sweet voices.  
"I'm coming for you, Peter," Sirius whispered to himself, shivering. "I'm coming for you, just you wait."  
The Minister's annual inspection of Azkaban had been several days before, the portly little man in the bowler hat and his entourage of Aurors passing past his cell. Sirius had lent through the bars on his door and called out to Fudge, and even dared ask for his newspaper. Fudge had looked mildly alarmed, but nevertheless handed over his paper, and there on the front cover was a whole family of gingers, and Peter.  
Peter.  
It was three days before Sirius managed to work up the courage to transform into Padfoot and slip past the Dementor bringing him his tray of food. It didn't even notice the large black dog that padded silently past him, although later Sirius was amazed that it hadn't been able to hear his pounding heart.  
Sirius remembered the day he'd been brought into Azkaban perfectly clearly; they'd taken and snapped his wand at a guard station at the end of the corridor, where they also kept the wands of those who would eventually be released, and a set of keys, and after hours of brainstorming ways to escape with Flint over the years they shared a wall he also knew that the only way he'd be able to escape the fortress was to blow a hole in the wall with a wand stolen from the guard station and jump into the sea. It wasn't ideal, Sirius mused, but it was all he had.  
Inside the guard station a single human guard was reclined in a plush chair, asleep, a Patronus keeping him company. If he'd been a human, Sirius would have grinned. It was too easy. He changed back to himself and for the first time since he'd been imprisoned he was glad he was barefoot because it made it easy to noiselessly cross to the filing cabinets labelled 'wands'. Sirius reached in, pulled out the first one his finger's came into contact with (which bore the label 'Marchbanks, Robert, sentence: 1990-1995').  
Sirius turned and had just opened the door when he heard singing, familiar singing, drifting down the corridor.  
_ "Blackbird singing in the dead of night,  
take these broken wings and learn to fly,_  
_all your life you've been waiting for this moment to arise."  
_  
Sirius knew that song. He knew that voice. A wicked grin broke out onto his face. What had he been thinking, escaping alone?

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night –" Jem broke off, startled, as she heard a set of keys jingle in the lock of her cell. The last time that had happened –  
"Hey there, Flint," said a familiar voice, and the door swung open to reveal a tall, scrawny man with tangled elbow length hair and dark grey eyes, standing there with two wands clutched in one hand and the master key for the cell doors in the other.  
"Sirius?" Jem asked weakly, struggling to a sitting position.  
"I finally figured out how to break out of this hellhole," he told her, grinning wildly. "And I very nearly left you behind. Count yourself lucky."  
Jem rolled her eyes, but a giddy smile was in danger of breaking onto her face. "Took you long enough," she scolded, ignoring the part about 'leaving her behind'. Evidently, Sirius was still a prat. And for some reason that made Jem smile.  
"Took _me _long enough?" Sirius spluttered, mock-outraged. "I don't see you breaking us out!"  
"You're the smart one," Jem shrugged, crossing the dingy cell and pulling one of the wands from his hand. "I never finished school, remember? I've got both the mental and magical capabilities of a fifteen year old."  
Sirius snorted, muttered something about wasting time, and pulled her by the wrist into the empty corridor.  
"I'm glad they downgraded your security," Sirius muttered. "Or this would be very difficult indeed."  
"How'd you get out?" Jem asked, struck suddenly with the realization that Sirius was a maximum security prisoner and it should have been impossible for him to escape. "You've got Dementors outside your door twenty-four-seven."  
He glanced at her but didn't answer, and Jem curled her lip. "Fine, Black, don't tell me. Do they know you're gone?"  
"No," he said shortly. "But they will soon. _Bombarda!" _  
They had stopped in front of a blank brick wall at the end of the corridor, and as Sirius spoke he raised the stolen wand and blasted the wall open with a mighty bang, opening a sheer drop down into the churning grey sea below.  
"We jump now, don't we?" Jem muttered, frowning.  
"Yeah," said Sirius warily as Dementors began to swarm the corridor behind them, and he unceremoniously shoved Jem out of the building and jumped after her.  
Jem felt the wind rushing past her ears, and she had a second to hope she didn't land on rocks and resolve to kill Sirius for pushing her before she hit the water and went down. Even from underneath the churning grey waves she could hear a large splash as Sirius landed next to her, and as a strand of seaweed wrapped around her foot, Jem kicked up with all her might, and her head broke the surface.  
Next to her Sirius did the same, and the two prison escapees wasted no time in beginning to swim furiously toward the hazy grey shape in the distance – the mainland.

Sirius pulled himself onto the rocky island with a gasping heave, tearing a gash in his arm in the process but hardly noticing the blood that trickled down his wrist as he pulled an equally bedraggled Flint onto the tiny rock island with him.  
"Reckon we're out of the anti-Apparation wards yet?" Flint asked through torn breathes, running a hand through her messy dark hair in an attempt to push it away from her face. Sirius shook his head.  
"I heard the Minister talking to one of his Aurors on their inspection a few years ago. They extended the wards all the way to the mainland in case anyone ever escaped so they couldn't Apparate – _Expecto Patronum!"  
_Flint ducked as the large silver dog burst out of the end of Sirius' wand and charged down the Dementor that had swooped out of the clouds and was heading for Flint. The dog pawed away the swopping horror and it glided away over the sea, no doubt to get a few of its fellows to recapture the two.  
"What's that thing?" Flint asked weakly, gesturing to the silver dog that was fast fading away into thin air.  
"A Patronus. They fight off Dementors," Sirius answered, feeling rather like he'd run a marathon, only without the sense of pride.  
"Come on," he muttered, casting two quick bubble-head charms and two warming ones on himself and Flint, before wading back into the water. "We've got to get to the mainland before they catch us."  
"Oh, joy, more swimming," Flint growled under her breath as she stepped into the water. "This is fan-fucking-tastic, Black. Couldn't you have had a magic carpet waiting for us?"  
"Magic carpets are illegal," he pointed out as he ducked under water, ignoring the murderess who was silently fuming at him as she did the same, with a muttered, "We just broke out of the most heavily guarded prison in the world and you care about breaking the law?"  
Yes, Flint decided, Sirius Black was definitely a prat.

It was late afternoon by the time Sirius and Flint managed to reach the mainland. The coast was rocky and sandy, and the moment they were both ashore there was a flurry of movement to their right.  
Sirius had already anticipated the fact there would be Aurors waiting for them, and he already had a destination in mind as he grabbed Flint's arm and Apparated. There was a peculiar tugging sensation on his left side and he smirked when he realised the Aurors must have set up an anti-Apparation ward on the shoreline that the current had carried them clear of.  
One of the Aurors gave an outraged shout as the two vanished into thin air, but Sirius didn't hear it. Neither did Flint, for they had just arrived at a peaceful hillside where birds were singing sweetly, and to Flint the air tasted like freedom.  
But they weren't free yet. By tomorrow the whole country would know their faces and their crimes, the Dementors would begin their hunt, the Aurors would track them, and there would be a period of their lives that would be too unpredictable to fathom.  
"Well," said Sirius eventually. "What now?"  
"Now we prove your innocence," Flint said softly.  
"And how do we do that?"  
Flint shrugged. "It's your innocence. You tell me."  
Sirius nodded, his mind whirling. Where was it that Petunia lived, he asked himself. Somewhere muggle and ordinary.  
"Surrey," the animagus said. "We need to get to Surrey."

**Aaand that's the first chapter. Next chapter we learn a little more about Flint's past and the circumstances that lead to her family's murders.  
Until next time, GNU xx**


	3. Parties, murders and midnight wandering

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Harry Potter. **

Chapter Two: Parties, Murders and Midnight Wanderings

**1980**

Jem studied her reflection in the large oval mirror, and crinkled up her nose. Heather, her older sister, placed the final pin into the ridiculously complicated up-do and smiled triumphantly.  
"There," Heather muttered, more to herself than to Jem. "I've made you look presentable, thank Merlin for that."  
Jem was slightly put out; but said nothing. Her smart mouth had gotten her in trouble more than once, although she supposed that was just part of who she was: a blood traitor, a blot on the perfect, ridiculously beautiful Flint family tree.  
Tonight, Christina Flint was throwing a party. A huge, dress-to-impress, purebloods-only, party. Heather, Jem's older sister and Jerome, her younger brother, were ecstatic. Jem, not so much, and she knew her father, sitting all alone in his cell in Azkaban, couldn't care less. After all, what did Death Eaters care for caviar and fancy clothes?  
For the occasion, Heather and bullied and forced Jem into black, lacy dress robes that trailed out behind her which had a funny, cape-y thing on the back. Jem thought she looked ridiculous, but Heather thought she looked beautiful. And with the complicated up-do and smoky makeup, Jem thought she looked evil, not 'sophisticated' as her sister insisted.  
"You look like a proper witch," Heather cooed, slipping pearl earrings into Jem's ears. "Not some filthy mudblood like you usually do."  
Jem bristled at the mention of _that word _like she always did when one of her family members said it, but didn't say anything. The last time she had pulled Heather up on her offensive language she'd been slapped so hard she couldn't hear out of her left ear for days.  
Jem's closest friend, Harvey Jackson, was a muggle-born and he'd introduced her to all sorts of wonderful things –some of them being muggle music and jeans. Jem had fallen in love with the Beatles, a slightly out-dated muggle band that Harvey's older sister listened to, and had begun to incorporate muggle clothes into her wardrobe. Her mother, a proud, pureblood witch, hated it to no end, but that didn't stop her youngest daughter from doing it, for Jem had a certain disregard for the rules that had ensured her placement in Slytherin house.  
"Don't you look pretty, dear," said a smooth voice from the doorway, as Christina Flint stepped into the room. Still sleek and glamorous at her forty years, the woman had an air of elegance carelessness with a hint of venom that had grown men cowering in her wake. Christina had passed her blondish red hair and pale skin on to her eldest daughter and youngest son, but Jem and her big brother Edward had the olive skin and black hair of their father.  
"Stand up, Jemima," Christina cooed, sounding perfectly nice and sugary sweet, but Jem knew all too well that the phrase 'the sweeter the smile, the sharper the knife' applied to her mother.  
"You're still too tall," Christina informed Jem once she'd stood, and Jem tried not to snap that the five inch heels Heather had stuffed her into didn't help. "And too chubby," Christina pinched Jem's upper arm, frowning when she found loose skin, "and you're muscles are much too large, dear. We are witches, dear; we don't need strong arms like filthy muggle bitches."  
A muscle in Jem's jaw twitched and she refused to demonstrate muggle duelling on her mother, the short sharp punches that Harvey had taught her.  
"I think muggles are amazing," Jem said, keeping her voice even and measured in just the right way to annoy her mother. "I think they are creative and ingenious and strong, and not so very different from us."  
Christina moved so fast Jem didn't even see her raise her hand, but she felt the stinging slap that Christina delivered.  
"I will not," the blonde woman hissed, "have that kind of talk in my house. And I want those muggle posters off your bedroom wall by tonight, Merlin forbid one of our guests see them," for a moment her eyes drifted to Heather. "Can you accompany me to the study, Heather dear? I need to send an owl."  
"Of course, Mother," Heather said smugly, and the two left the room with identical clinks of their high heels, leaving a disgruntled and red-cheeked girl behind.

"You did what?" Jem could hear her voice getting louder as she spoke, and the snobbish purebloods around her turned to look at the girl whose voice was rising dangerously.  
"Keep your voice down you idiotic girl," Christina Flint hissed at her daughter, glancing across the room at the man who was so obviously leering at the fifteen year old. "It is tradition," Christina turned back to Jem, eyes flashing. "So you'll do that you're told."  
"You didn't sell Heather off to some old pervert!" Jem yelled, pulling her shoulder out of her mother's claw-like grip, and thought vacantly that the middle of the Flint Manor's ballroom probably wasn't the best place to get into one of her infamous fights with Christina, especially when the woman's party was in full swing. But in Jem's mind, there was no other thing for it, as Christina had just informed Jem she had arranged a marriage between her youngest daughter and Cassius Mulciber, a thirty-something year old man with a curious and insatiable bloodlust.  
"Heather can be trusted to marry a respectable pureblood when the time comes!" Christina hissed back furiously. "As for you, you're likely to run off with that mudblood boy Heather's told me all about - Harry or something else lowly and common!"  
"His name is _Harvey_, and he's five times the gentleman any of the pigs here will ever be, and for Merlin's sake, _don't say that fucking word!"_ Jem yelled back. Christina, well aware that the entire ballroom was now staring at them, grabbed the rebellious teenager by the arm and pulled her from the ballroom, all the while muttering under her breath, "What is _wrong_ with you, Jemima? I never had trouble with Edward, Heather or Jerome – what is it with you?"  
"_Maybe,_" Jem muttered savagely, "I'm not some spineless bitch like the rest of them! _Maybe, _Mother, I'm pissed that I spent eleven years of my life locked away in some creepy old house being told that muggles and muggle-born's are scum and filth, and the next five years learning that everything you've ever told me is wrong and being slapped around for saying so! Do you remember how father and Edward beat me when they found out I was taking muggle studies, Mother? Do you, or did you just sit there staring to space drinking scotch while I screamed for my life and thought about the days when you weren't a dried up old hag?"  
They were in the garden now, and Jem noticed that the brick wall that separated the garden and the courtyard had been knocked over at some point in the evening and bricks were scattered in the long grass.  
"You little _bitch_," Christina snarled, but before she could slap her daughter like she'd done so many times she was shoved backwards and lost her footing in her ridiculously high heels and fell back, hitting her head on something in the long grass with a resounding crack.  
"Mother?" suddenly fearful, but still annoyed, Jem kneeled down beside Christina's prone form, reaching out to touch her blonde hair, but when she brought her hand away her fingers were stained red. Jem rolled the woman onto her side, and the moonlight threw the gaping wound and red blood on the back of Christina's skull into sharp relief. It also illuminated the blood stained brick lying on the grass, and with shaking fingers Jem picked up the rectangle of hardened clay and stood, her breath coming in shaky gasps.  
A scream rang out behind her and Jem spun, as her sister Heather shoed past her to kneel at Christina's side, shaking the woman's shoulders and begging for her to wake, to no avail. Jerome, the youngest Flint child at fourteen, stood on the path where Christina and Jem had walked only moments ago.  
"What the hell have you done, you blood traitor bitch?" Jerome whispered harshly over Heather's sobbing, narrowing his eyes at the bloodied object clutched in Jem's hand. "What have you _done?!_" and before she could answer he lunged for her, a snarl on his face. Instinctively, Jem raised the brick in her hand.

**1993**

The shack was in the middle of the woods; perfectly isolated, hidden, abandoned, and the perfect place for two fugitives to hide and plan.  
It had been two days since Sirius and Flint escaped from Azkaban, and in that time the Ministry had placed Traces on their stolen wands.  
It had been Flint's idea not to simply break the wands and leave them in the forest somewhere but to attach them to a muggle boat sailing north and send the Ministry on a wild goose chase, and now wandless and unable to perform magic the fugitives were making their way south – to Surrey. A part of Sirius still didn't quite understand why Flint was still with him and why she hadn't made her own way out of the country. She was at risk staying in England, with him, and going to see one of the most valuable people alive today – Harry Potter. Sirius kept expecting that she'd leave one day, vanish into thin air, but it hadn't happened so far.  
Right now it was the middle of the night and Flint was asleep. Sirius was awake, watching her toss and turn in a restless sleep, wondering what was in her nightmares. She didn't cry out once, and the animagus was tempted to wake her from her silent horror, but after a few minutes of fitful sleep Flint settled down and was at peace.  
In her sleep the woman's face was younger and brighter, the corners of her mouth turning up, her eyelashes fluttering. Earlier that evening she had decided her long, tangled greasy hair was too much trouble, and she'd taken the pocket knife she'd slipped out of the pocket of an unsuspecting muggle fisherman on the coast of Norfolk and hacked it off. Now sporting a short, messy black 'do, she slightly resembled James at the age of twenty-one, right before he was murdered, and when Sirius told her this she'd rolled her eyes and half-heartedly swiped the knife at him.  
Sirius found now that he was free; James, Lily and Remus filled his thoughts, as did Pettigrew. Sirius couldn't bare to call the little man by his first name, knowing what he'd done, and he couldn't wait for the day he'd get to end that pathetic life and commit the murder he'd been imprisoned for.  
And he still couldn't bloody sleep.  
Casting one last glance at the sleeping form across the room, Sirius transformed into Padfoot and slipped out of the shack into the cold night.  
He wasn't going anywhere in particular, just going for a run in the forest, and if he pretended hard enough he could almost imagine that there were centaurs and Acromantula and unicorns in the forest, and that there was a stag running through the trees beside him and the howl of a wolf behind him as they played tag.


	4. In which Sirius Black becomes a thief

**Thanks to everyone who's followed, favourited and reviewed. It keeps me motivated to continue writing this, despite the fact I've been really sick for the last few weeks. You guys are ****_awesome_****. There's a few points at the end of the chapter I'd like anyone reading this (is anyone actually reading this?) to check out. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Jemima Flint and the parts of the canon plot I've changed. The rest is JKR's. **

Chapter Three: In Which Sirius Black becomes a thief.

**1993 – London**

"I think this is a really, really, god awful, horrible, idiotic idea," Flint muttered, glaring at Sirius, or rather Padfoot, who simply barked and wagged his tail.  
"And why did you never tell me you were an animagus? We could have escaped that bloody place years ago."  
The large black dog barked at her, inclining its head toward the busy London street, and was rewarding with a filthy look from the woman. "Alright, alright, I'm going. And you're sure he's a wizard?"  
The large black dog nodded its shaggy head and barked softly. Flint, shaking slightly, slipped out of the alley way and onto the street, right behind a little old man in a purple top hat.  
Sirius, in his dog form, watched as Flint brushed past several muggles on the street, looking simply like a business woman in a rush. Getting hold of a pencil skirt, white blouse, blazer and plain black heels had been surprisingly easy, and had involved a little bit of clothesline robbing and just a little breaking and entering. Now, Flint, who looked clean and sleek, wearing the perfect expression of professional boredom, brushed past Dedalus Diggle and lifted his wand out of his pocket and slid it up her sleeve so quickly at Sirius nearly missed it. For a moment the small man glanced at her, and Sirius' heart skipped a beat, but evidently the no-nonsense business woman who didn't even glance at him and she apologised for her large black handbag swinging into him wasn't cause for concern, even as they were passing a newsagents stand that sported large black and white' Wanted' posters for none other than the sleek looking business woman –who in the photograph looked deranged deadly, bearing the caption 'Jemima Flint, armed and highly dangerous'.  
Sirius let out a breath he didn't know he'd even been holding as he yapped happily and danced out onto the street, weaving through the legs of unsuspecting muggles, past the sleek business woman Flint was pretending to be, and ducked into another alleyway where he was joined by Flint a moment later. Sirius ducked behind a dumpster and transformed, becoming human once more.  
"You got it?" Sirius asked, sure he'd seen her pick the wand out of Diggle's pocket but scarcely beliving it had gone off without a hitch.  
"Did you ever doubt me?" she replied, ducking behind the dumpster and retrieving the wand from her sleeve and handing it to him. Sirius grinned, and in a fit of giddiness he changed Flint's hair from her black to bright, vibrant purple.  
"Ha, ha," Flint said sarcastically, catching sight of her reflection in a puddle of dirty water next to them. She snatched the wand from Sirius' hands and fixed her bright hair, and then transfigured her skirt into black trousers and her heels into sneakers.  
"How long do you reckon until he realizes it's gone?" Flint asked, twirling the stolen and between her fingers.  
"Knowing Dedalus, probably a few good hours. And then he'll think he lost it, so he'll backtrack all his steps and then he'll try to summon it," Sirius replied, peeking out from behind the dumpster in case anyone was heading down their alleyway. "And when that doesn't work he's going to think it's lodged somewhere and it can't be summoned, so he'll put a tracking spell on it, which is the first thing anyone else would have done, so we're lucky it's him, and then he's going to know it was stolen which won't matter because by that time we'll be disillusioned and have robbed Ollivanders and we'll live his wand somewhere where he can find it."  
Flint grinned and shook her head, muttering, "You are officially a criminal, Sirius Black."  
"I'm not," he argued, mock-outraged. "And _besides, _a bit of thievery pales in comparison to _murder_. And I'm not the one who picked Diggle's pocket."  
"That's only because you'd look funny in a pencil skirt," Flint replied.

Harry James Potter was pissed.  
This summer had been bad – as had the last summer and all the summers before he'd gone to Hogwarts but this particular summer was dreadful because of one large, purple-faced, moustached reason.  
Marge Dursely had decided to grace number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, with her presence and for the last week Harry had had to behave. It was either that or risk not having permission to go to Hogsmeade on weekends during the year at Hogwarts.  
Harry had contemplated forging Uncle Vernon's amazingly complicated signature, but all the loops and twists had managed to evade him and Harry was sure that Professor McGonagall would see through it with one withering glare.  
And so Harry had tried to behave. He really had – but trouble had a way of finding Harry Potter, and so he found himself dragging his trunk, which was filled with his broomstick, spell books and robes (hardly ordinary belongings, but then Harry wasn't an ordinary boy) through Little Whinging in the middle of the night.  
Harry dropped his trunk on the sidewalk and kicked it, a strangled scream forcing its way out of his throat. He had nowhere to go, no one to go to, and he wished once again for the parents he'd never known, and for the girl he'd let die. Rosie.  
Harry shook such thoughts from his head; he knew it wasn't healthy to dwell on them, as much as he wished to. Shivering, the bespectacled boy wrapped his skinny arms around himself for warmth, a shift in the air catching his attention. He glanced up, just in time to see the bearlike black dog prowling through the bushes on the other side of the street towards him, snarling. Harry, abandoning all presence, pulled his wand out of his back pocket and held it in front of him, should the beast attack, when he feel backwards and with a bang a large triple-decker purple bus appeared. Harry blinked as a conductor in a purple suit leant out the back of the bus and began to speak into the night, introducing himself as Stan Shunpike, conductor of the Knight Bus. When he caught sight of Harry lying on the gutter, he broke off with a frown, and when Harry glanced around the bus to see what the huge dog was doing there was nothing there.  
Stan lifted Harry's trunk onto the bus and a newspaper fell from his coat; and on the front page were two faces Harry had seen on the muggle news. He bent to pick the paper up, reading the title.  
"'Escaped Prisoners Rob Ollivander's' – hang on, these two were on the muggle news!" Harry exclaimed.  
"Of course they were," Stan said, shaking his head. "They're Sirius Black and Jemima Flint, aren't they?"  
"Who?" Harry asked blankly, smoothing his hair over his fringe.  
"They're murderers, they are," Stan told him, jabbing his finger at the wild looking people. "Sirius Black was a supporter of You-Who-'Oo and Jemima Flint's father was, too, and they broke out of Azkaban together a week ago."  
"How?" Harry asked; he'd heard about Azkaban and it was supposed to be impossible to break out of.  
"No one knows how," Stan told him. "They're mad, them two. Apparently they were in neighbouring cells for quite a few years an' they planned their escape, but no one knows how they did it. It's supposed to be impossible, innit?"  
"Yeah," Harry agreed faintly. "Why'd they break into Ollivanders?"  
"For wands, of course. They disillusioned themselves and snuck in, see, and when they had wands Flint threatened Ollivander and well –you don't want to cross Flint, see, she murdered most of her family when she wasn't much older than you, lad, and she didn't even use magic, so Ollivander just let them go, quietly like, and by the time the Aurors got there it was too late and they were long gone. Surely you know all this already, lad? It's all anyone can talk about. What's your name, anyway?"  
"Neville Longbottom," Harry answered. "And no, I've been staying with muggle friends all summer."  
"Ah," Stan said, in apparent understanding. "Well I'm sure you'll get sick of hearing it soon. The Dementors'll catch 'em soon enough and send 'em back to Azkaban and the rest of us can go back to living our lives."  
"Yeah," Harry answered, not really listening, his attention focused on the pictures of the two ratty haired, dirty people glaring up at him and he shivered; Harry was really quite glad he'd never have to encounter either of them.  
If only he knew…

"I can't believe we _did _that," Sirius gasped. "And I can't believe you threatened Ollivander!"  
Flint laughed. "We may as well live up to our reputations of dangerous killers," she said. "Even if you're harmless, we may as well milk the scare factor."  
Sirius noted she had called him harmless and said nothing about herself. _She was just a kid, Pads, _he reminded himself. _She's not a bad guy. She's a good guy who'd had some pretty bad stuff happen to her. In fact, she's not a guy at all. _  
"Sirius? Sirius? Black, are you in there?"  
Sirius jolted out of his thoughts and turned back to Flint. They were hiding out in an abandoned warehouse as the Aurors were going mad searching for them. They were in a muggle area, and they hadn't used any magic since they'd arrived, and unless the Aurors were going to wander in to that particular warehouse they were safe.  
"You're not a guy," Sirius said aloud, and then cringed.  
Flint raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for noticing, Sirius. Means a lot to me. So, when are we getting to Surrey?"  
"You're not going to Surrey. Too dangerous."  
"Black, a few hours ago we waltzed into Diagon Alley which is filled with Aurors and wizards who'd kill us given half the chance. I'm not too worried about going on a trip to Surrey."  
"You're staying here."  
"Black-"  
"Have you ever been to Surrey, Flint?"  
"What? No -"  
"Excellent. Bye."  
Sirius spun on his heel and Apparated away, leaving behind an annoyed witch, who said aloud to the empty warehouse, "Git."

**Ok, so three things.  
1- I can't stop laughing at how Sirius would look in a pencil skirt.  
2-I never understood why Harry didn't just forge Uncle Vernon's signature on his Hogsmeade permission form. Harry's supposed to be a bit of a rule breaker, and come on –me and my friends have been forging signatures and notes since year seven and it just seems like the sort of thing Harry would do. Oh, whatever.  
3-PLEASE READ -I mention that Harry thinks he let a girl called Rosie die. This little plot bunny was originally going to be a whole different fic, but I decided while writing this that I'm going to make this fic a little more about Harry (and possibly Remus because let's face it – Remus is awesome) instead of just about Sirius and Flint and the Harry/Rosie thing will be explained in a later chapter, although I might still do the Harry/Rosie story separately in greater detail. **

**Thanks for reading. It would mean so much to me if you could drop a quick review (it would also mean I write the next chapter quicker). **

**-GNU xx**


	5. All secrets must come to light

**A/N: (turtle voice) Hello! So after a doctor's appointment and a blood test I know why I've been sick lately –I had glandular fever, which led to dehydration, which led to a kidney infection, which led to a whole lot of pain and ****_urg _****–so anyway, now I'm on antibiotics and I'm going back to school, which the reason for telling you any of this: my school sets a ridiculous amount of homework and my updates are probably going to become less frequent (I've been doing them weekly-ish so far…). I've spent the last two terms in detention for not doing any of my homework and my marks are slipping, so I really need to start focusing on school work, instead of writing and drawing and other creative, fun things. Frowny face. **

**This chapter is dedicated to Bluemuffin22, who is amazeballs and whose awesome reviews have motivated me to write this extra quick. Thank you, Bluemuffin22, wherever you are. **

Chapter Four: All secrets must come to light. 

Remus Lupin was tired.  
Dark circles had formed under his amber eyes and his skin was sickly pale, and with his transformation coming up in a few days he really needed to get a grip or the full moon would be worse than usual.  
It probably had something to do with his ex-best friend breaking out of Azkaban.  
Sirius' smirking, handsome face swum before his vision and a tiny shiver of doubt wormed its way into Remus' mind before he flicked it away. Sirius _was_ guilty. There was no way he wasn't. _But, really, Moony, it's _Sirius. _  
_The bang of an owl flying into the kitchen window made Remus jump. He didn't get many owls –after all, nearly everyone who he cared about was gone (_thanks to Sirius, _a cruel voice in the back of Remus' head whispered) and who'd want to communicate with a werewolf? A monster?  
Remus cracked open the window and let the owl in. It was a tawny, proud bird, which didn't dare land in his shabby cottage and dropped the letter on the table and flew straight back out into the chilly forest.  
_It was probably quite a flight for the thing, _Remus thought. _But I live in a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere for a reason.  
_Remus half expected the letter to be for someone else, but on the front of the creamy parchment it clearly said _Remus J. Lupin _in familiar slanting writing.  
"What does Dumbledore want with me?" Remus said aloud.

"Git," said Jem aloud to the abandoned warehouse. "You bloody git, Black!"  
Sirius had gone. Left her, racked off to Surrey without her to see his godson and since Jem couldn't Apparate she was alone, with nothing but a stolen wand in her pocket and a boiling temper, with no way to follow her absent companion.  
And that's when the owl found her.  
Jem had never liked owls. Her mother's owl, Sapiens, had hated her with a passion and never missed an opportunity to peck or scratch her and Jem harboured many healed scars.  
This owl was large and regal, carrying a rolled up letter and a small black silk drawstring bag. It dropped both into Jem's hands and flew off with a hoot. Jem looked down at the letter. It had no address and was unremarkable in every way and if Sirius was here he'd tell her not to open it; but Sirius wasn't here, was he, and so Jem unrolled the letter.

_Sister, _it said.  
_I do hope Mercedes found you. I have heard you are making yourself difficult to find, but my owl is stubborn and clever. Much like yourself. I do wish to talk to you, Jemima. I have missed you terribly. I know I never came to visit, but honestly, I would have rather spent time with my wife and son. You remember Atria and Marcus, I hope? I would like to meet with you, Jemima. In the bag is a Portkey. It will be safe –no Aurors, no danger, just us. Hold the Portkey and speak my name and you'll be with me.  
Your surviving brother,  
Edward Flint. _

Jem snorted. Her older brother had always been an idiot, and it seemed he hadn't changed. But why he wanted to meet with her, Jem couldn't fathom. Edward had always hated her. Not on the same level as Mother had, or loathed her like Heather and Jerome had, but he'd hated her nonetheless. When Jem had taken muggle studies in her third year, her father –who'd ended up in Azkaban two months later –and Edward had beaten her with their fists and boots, to show her the only useful thing muggles knew: how to literally kick the shit out of someone.  
She'd ended up staying at Harvey's for the rest of those holidays. And she hadn't given up muggle studies.  
"Portkey," Jem muttered aloud. "What's a Portkey? I've heard that before."  
God damn the Dementors and their mind-fuckery. Jem couldn't remember what a Portkey was and she had the feeling that she should and that it was important.  
When the bag was opened it proved there was nothing but a small marble figure of a wizard inside.  
"What the fuck, Edward?" Jem asked aloud, and then yelped as the statue glowed blue and the world spun.

Jem found herself in the fine looking drawing room of her childhood home.  
"Oh," Jem said. "A Portkey. Now I remember."  
"I'm surprised you forgot," said a silky voice behind her. "You used to love them as a child.  
"Edward," Jem replied, her voice full of contempt. "I apologise. My mind is not what it used to be. Soul-sucking demon fuckers have that effect."  
"Never been overly fond of Dementors," Edward Flint replied. Jem turned to face her older brother, who sat reclined in an armchair, a glass of whiskey in one hand.  
"You've aged _horribly_," Jem greeted. "What are you, thirty-five? Look about fifty."  
"Charming as always, Jemima," Edward drawled.  
"So are Aurors about to jump out and arrest me?" Jem asked, her hand slipping into the pocket of her trousers to grasp her stolen wand.  
"Oh, no. What I have to tell you is not meant for the ears of the law," Edward responded with a predatory smile that made Jem shiver.  
"And what would that be?"  
"Do you remember the night our family died?"  
"It's a bit difficult to forget," the dark haired woman snarled.  
"Ah, yes. Do sit down, Jemima. It's only polite."  
"I don't really care for manners."  
"Touché. At least where you're concerned. You are as bad as the filth you associate yourself with. Sirius Black – I ask you, sister!"  
"Tell me what you have to tell me or Merlin help you, I'll –"  
"Calm, Jemima," Edward drawled. "Do you remember the night our family died, our dear late mother being thrown backwards by an invisible force and smashing her poor skull open on a brick?"  
"Oh, no, Edward, I must have missed that part."  
"They say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."  
"'They' obviously haven't met me."  
"You have been locked away for an awfully long time. And you never were an easy person to get along with."  
"Get to the point, Edwatermelon."  
"I did it."  
"Did what?"  
"_I _cast the hex that threw her back."  
"What?"  
"_I cast the -"  
_ "I heard," Jem whispered. "You. You killed her."  
"It was an _accident, _Jemima. I didn't _know _the brick was there."  
"It was _you_. You destroyed everything."  
"You destroyed everything by doing what you did to Jerome."  
"It was self-defence. He came at me."  
"And you could have subdued him with magic and explained everything rationally. But instead you let your temper explode, my _dear_ Jemima, and so it was _you_ who destroyed everything."  
"If you hadn't –"  
"What's done is done," Edward interrupted. "I just thought you might want to know, my wayward sister, behind your imprisonment."  
"I shouldn't have been imprisoned in the first place, you fucking –"  
"My, my, there goes your temper again," Edward said, casting a nonverbal silencing charm over the yelling woman. "Thank god Atria and Marcus aren't home."  
Jem snarled silently and grasped her stolen wand, thinking _Finite Incantatem _with all her magical willpower. The silencing charm broke, and her voice dangerously quiet and calm, she said: "Send me back."  
"Sorry?"  
"Send me back, Edward or I'll hex your –"  
"I will need to know where you are hiding before I can make you another Portkey."  
A wicked smile threatened to break onto Jem's face even though she was shaking. "Surrey," she said. "I need to get to Little Whinging, Surrey."

Sirius was sitting in a bush.  
Why, exactly, he was sitting in a bush made complete sense to the animagus, but to any other it might seem strange to see a large black dog sitting in a bush with thorns sticking into its bottom. Not that anyone was about this time of the night, except for one scrawny, messy haired youth who looked so much like James.  
Sirius felt the bush shift as someone crawled in beside him, and when Flint's familiar scent reached his nose he changed back into his true form.  
"_How_," he asked, flicking his overlong black hair away from his face, "did you get here?"  
"Portkey," she answered, her voice shaking.  
"You know how to make a Portkey?"  
"No."  
"Then how – are you alright?"  
He had noticed there were tears forming in her eyes, which reminded him of Lily so much, and his breath caught. Flint didn't cry. She just wasn't that kind of person.  
"Not really. I think I need a hug."  
Sirius paused. He'd never really touched Flint except for when they were apparating (and of course when he'd shoved her out of Azkaban two hundred feet down into churning water, but since she was still a little pissed about that he tried not to mention it). Slowly he opened his arms and she sank into them, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest. She was shaking. Hesitantly he returned the hug, wrapping his arms around her. She was too skinny and, and all hard muscle – after a thirteen year imprisonment he wasn't entirely sure how she managed that, but it wasn't the time to ask.  
"What the hell happened? Did you go somewhere? Did someone find us?"  
"Later," she muttered, her voice quivering, and Sirius tightened his hold on her, hoping she didn't cry. He wasn't good with crying girls, and when he voiced this opinion she laughed lightly and replied, "Me neither."  
"Good," he whispered, an unfamiliar emotion stirring in his chest as a brief smile flittered across her face, and he reminded himself that this was _Flint _he was staring at like she was some girl he'd met in a pub and that wasn't _on.  
_"Hey, Flint?" he asked to distract himself. "How on Earth do you have muscles?"  
"I'm not telling you," she replied. "You'd laugh."  
"No I wouldn't – oh, fine, I probably would."  
"Git."  
"Yeah. Can you tell me about what happened tonight, then?"  
Flint sighed. For a few moments she'd had his warm body to comfort him and she hadn't had to think about what she'd learned tonight. It came back with a stab to her gut, and she nodded and allowed Sirius to pull her to her feet. The older wizard turned on the spot and Apparted, leaving Little Whinging behind.

**So I'm writing this while watching Torchwood. Favourite line of all time: "Have you seen a blowfish driving a sports car?" So- Remus has shown up, Flint's feeling cuddly whilst being a badass (who may or may not grow some kick-ass abs between no and the next chapter), Sirius is confused, Edward reminds me of Lucius, who looks a little like Haldir from LotR. Next chapter we see Harry again, and we meet Harvey. :D AND I'M BEING OVERRUN BY PLOT BUNNIES. SO MANY PLOT BUNNIES.  
Now I'm going to daydream about Captain Jack Harkness. Bye. **

**p.s if you know any super amazing British swear words (such as git, prat, tosser, along those lines) can you tell me? I need some good ones and British swear words are so much better than the Aussie ones. Thanks! **

**-GNU**


	6. Chance Meetings

**Disclaimer: I don't own the HP world. **

**I am so, so sorry. It's been what, two, three weeks? I lost count, and I've been super busy with homework and my birthday yesterday and the fact we now have a puppy, but I'm sorry! Anyway, I'm sorry, and here's the next chapter. Also, if you're interested, I just wrote a oneshot about Harry got his name, so check it out if you're interested. Now, enough self-promoting, on with the story.**

Chapter Five: Chance Meetings 

Harry reckons that if Rosie was still alive she'd be in Hufflepuff. Or maybe Slytherin. She always had been hard to read, and on reflection all he really knew about her was that she was fierce and brave and loyal and cunning.  
Walking through Diagon Alley whilst not paying attention was what Rosie would have called a typical Harry moment, and as Harry tripped over something small and fluffy and heard the musical smash of his glasses sliding off his nose and smashing on the pavement.  
Harry swore under his breathe, because in all the years he'd had those classes and all the times Dudley had punched him in the nose or a Dark Lord had tried to murder him, he'd never broken them because they were Rosie's glasses.  
"_Reparo," _said a smooth voice as Harry was pulled to his feet, and suddenly had an armful of Hermione Granger, as a man's laughter reached his ears.  
"How have you been, Harry?" Hermione asked breathlessly, breaking away, as a tall man with curly hair to match Hermione's handed him his magically mended glasses.  
"Great," Harry answered. "I've been away from the Dursleys for a whole week."  
The man, who Harry was fairly sure was Hermione's magical uncle, the only other wizard in her family, laughed, and said, "Not a fan of your family, I take it?"  
"No," Harry answered, noting the similarities between Hermione and the man who was probably her uncle.  
"Not unusual. I knew a girl once – I'm Harvey Jackson, the uncle of the brightest witch of her age, it's good to meet you Harry, Hermione never shuts up about you. She's a bloody chatterbox."  
"Wonder where I get it from?" Hermione joked, grinning. "Oh, it's wonderful to see you again, Harry. Ignore Uncle Harvey, he can be really…insufferable sometimes."  
"I've met worse," Harry deadpanned as his suspicions were confirmed.  
"Always good to know," Harvey said, quirking an eyebrow. "Now if you children don't mind, I have to go consume some alcohol. That scary redhead is waiting for you two in the inn. Cheerio."  
He stepped away, still smiling broadly. Harry blinked.  
"Don't mind him," Hermione said. "He's always been a little eccentric and ever since Jemima Flint escaped Azkaban…well, they used to be really good friends, and I think he's still expecting her to show up on his doorstep or something…anyway, it's really good to see you, Harry, Mrs Weasley sent us to find you, she's waiting…"  
And Harry let himself be pulled away by Hermione, a content smile settling on his face.

"I still don't like it," Sirius said stubbornly. "What if we're recognised?"  
"We went out in the muggle world without being recognised," Jem pointed out. "And we'll be disguised. I just want to see him, Sirius!"  
"Jem…" Sirius wasn't exactly sure when he'd started calling the young woman by her first name, but now it didn't seem right to call her by her surname. And there they were, sitting in a bush, thoroughly disillusioned, watching muggles go past.  
For the last week sitting in bushes had become part of Jem and Sirius' daily lives as they moved slowly north, toward Hogwarts. Sirius was curious to see what the school had become, and Jem was itching to get back, and Sirius suspected that a part of her was bitter her schooling had been ripped away from her.  
And now Jem was honestly telling him she wanted to go see some bloke called Harvey.  
"He's my best friend, Sirius!" Jem insisted, and the older man pretended that didn't sting because he'd like to think he ranked higher than some boy she hadn't seen since she was a teenager, but he let it slide.  
"And as far as he knows you're a murder," Sirius responded bluntly.  
"I _am _a murder."  
"It was self-defence."  
"It must be nice to be able to have blind faith in those you surround yourself with."  
Sirius blinked, and glowered as he recalled his blind faith in the rat, and where that had led.  
"Nice, but _foolish_, Sirius. I grew up in one of the most disgusting pureblood families around, and then I lived in a dorm of backstabbing, self-serving bastards for five years and Harvey's the only person I've ever really trusted, so I'm going to go see him, Sirius!"  
"I am a _Black, _Jem. I know the whole pureblood family thing, and I trusted one of my best friends and it got fourteen people _killed, _so what I'm trying to say is that we can't trust _anyone_."  
"_Mufflato. _Harvey isn't Peter, Sirius! I actually know I can _trust _my friends."  
Sirius didn't reply. He'd been close to yelling before and now simply sat in shocked silence, staring at Jem. Her short hair was ruffled and sticking up at odd angles, and she was glaring at him with all the venom in the world.  
"Fine," Sirius said, voice deadly quiet. "Go see your little boyfriend, but when he calls the Aurors on your arse, please, _don't _expect me to break you out of prison again. Or maybe I won't have to, because you'll get a kiss on your return to Azkaban."  
Jem flinched visibly, a shadow flitting across her face, but Sirius wasn't paying attention. He grasped the stolen – _his _stolen – wand and Apparated away, not caring about what would become of Flint, seething in his rage, and when he ended up in the vacant flat he and Flint had been sheltering in, he kicked and hit the walls until his knuckled bled.  
And he didn't even know why he was so angry.

"_Teach?_" Remus blinked at the aged Headmaster. "You want _me _to _teach_?"  
"Yes," Dumbledore answered evenly. "I think you'd be perfect for the position, Remus. Try not to let the past deaths, maiming's and induced insanity of our previous Defence teachers deter you."  
That had been a week ago, and Remus had Floo'd back to his cottage with a parting message from Dumbledore to 'think about it'. When he'd returned he'd tried not to think about how boring and lonely his little cottage felt.  
Now Remus was sitting at his little writing desk, quill in hand, glaring at the owl that had shown up to take his reply to Dumbledore, as if it would make the bird leave. It didn't, and a memory of Sirius and James enlarging an owl and trying to fly it in sixth year made Remus make his decision.

_Albus, _

_ After serious consideration I have decided to accept your offer of the DADA position at Hogwarts. _

"Mum, where's my KISS shirt?"  
"That rag with the awful man on it? Oh, Nymphadora, I threw it away, darling."  
"_Mum!" _seventeen year old Nymphadora Tonks leaned around the bathroom door to stare incredulously at her mother. "That's my _favourite _shirt, and I was going to wear it to Sam's tonight –"  
"Oh, Dora, if you're going on a date you should be wearing a nice dress –"  
"Sam's gay, Mum, how many times do I have to tell you? We're just going out for dinner at that Thai place down the village – Sam's boyfriend's coming too."  
Sam Sanders was a muggle boy who lived down the street from the Tonks family. He and Nymphadora had clicked as children when Nymphadora had attended muggle primary school, and even though she was away at school most of the year they had remained close. As a farewell gift for Nymphadora, Sam was taking her out for dinner with Marc, the boy he'd met in a bookshop two months prior. For the occasion Nymphadora was wearing her natural face, her hair short and pink and spikey, the way she liked it, and she was wearing the black skinny jeans and matching singlet that showcased the fact that Nymphadora's natural body was as flat as a board.  
"Oh, that's nice dear, but still, you should put on a dress and give yourself some nice breasts and hips, you might meet a nice boy while you're out…"  
Nymphadora rolled her eyes, and disappeared into her bedroom to find another shirt to wear.

Two and a half hours later Nymphadora found herself laughing breathlessly between Sam and Marc, and she could only think one thing: Marc was _funny. _ They were walking down Main Street, heads thrown back, and Nymphadora tripped and fell. But instead of landing on the cold, hard ground, strong arms caught her and Nymphadora found herself staring into the face of a beautiful man.  
He probably wasn't considered beautiful in the traditional sense, his face was scarred and lined and his eyes and odd shade of amber, and his sandy hair was lined with grey, but Nymphadora thought he was beautiful.  
"You alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.  
"I am now," Nymphadora answered.  
A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and Sam cleared his throat rather pointedly behind them. The mysterious man set Nymphadora gently on her feet and made sure she was steady, and Nymphadora giggled nervously.  
"Um, thanks," she said. "For saving me. From the pavement. When I fell. For you. When I fell for you."  
Nymphadora could hear fighting not to laugh, and went bright red, as the beautiful man scooped up her fallen handbag and slung it over her shoulder.  
"You're very welcome," he replied, and Nymphadora shivered as his fingers brushed her shoulder. "So few men save young women from the pavement now days. I'm just doing my duty as a gentleman."  
"Yes," Nymphadora breathed. "Yes you are. I'm Dora. Tonks. Dora Tonks. Nymphadora, really, but well, who in their right mind would like the name Nymphadora? Well, my mother, obviously, but she did it to piss off her family – I'm babbling, aren't I?"  
"Yes," said the man. "Have a lovely evening, Dora-Tonks-Nymphadora-Really."  
And the beautiful man stepped past her and was gone.  
Sam burst out laughing.

**Ooh, that was fun to write. I swear this thing is writing itself. I did not originally intend for Harvey to be Hermione's uncle, but I did write in an earlier chapter that Harvey was muggleborn and had a big sister (who went on to become Hermione's mother)**. **Dora's funny. I added her in as a last-minute decision, I hope it'll work out. Reviews are love. Remember that.**  
**Love, GNU xx**

**Outtake(Warning: fluff): **

****"So what did you think of Dora?" Sam asked Marc as he slid into bed next to his boyfriend. Marc was Sam's opposite in every way; while Sam was blonde and sporty and laughed a lot, Marc was tall, dark, arty and serious, and together they made a perfect match. It had been love at first sight for the two young men, and for the last two months they had been practically inseparable.  
"She's great," Marc answered honestly. "I can see why you like her."  
"She is," Sam agreed. "Bit mad, though. Did you see the way she was drooling over the hermit?"  
"The what?"  
"The hermit. The bloke who helped her up. He lives all alone in a cottage in the woods, people call him the 'wolf man'. Say he's a bit nutty."  
Marc bristled. "People used to say that about my mother," he said. Sam reached over and grasped his hand. Marc's mother had been an odd sort of woman, but Sam thought she sounded wonderful. She had been mauled to death by a wolf when Marc was nine.  
"He's a good bloke," Sam whispered. "Like you."  
Marc smiled and reached over to stroke the side of Sam's face. "And you."  
And neither of them mentioned the unspoken _I love you_'s that the touched seemed to say. After all, they'd only known each other two months.  
But in time they would say those three magic words aloud.


	7. Apologies, apples and sheep

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise from the Harry Potter universe. I own my main OC, Jem Flint, and any other minor ones that may pop up but that's it. I also don't own 'Julia' by the Beatles, which is sung in this chapter, and I know I butcher the lyrics a bit, but I still don't own. **

**A/N: Ok, it's been weeks. And I have no other excuse apart from the fact I have a puppy, a ton of school work, and my internet connection is really quite horrible and hasn't been letting me update. And I've been trying to upload a Torchwood fanfic, but the only category my computer gives me to choose from on is Harry Potter, and I don't know why. Anyway, on with the show. Allonsy! **

Chapter Six: Apples, Apologies and Suddenly Sheep. 

"I'm sorry, you know."  
"Did he call the Aurors?"  
Jem flinched. She had barely moved from the spot where Sirius had left her after apparating away hours before, her knees drawn to her chest, head down, shivering the cold as night fell. Sirius had returned from wherever he had gone after their fight, expecting to find her gone, and surprised when she was still there.  
"I got you an apple."  
Sirius blinked as she pulled an apple from inside her jacket (which she'd stolen off a clothesline) and handed it to him.  
"Steal this, too?"  
"I didn't go see him."  
"Why not?"  
"Because you were probably right."  
"I'm always right. It's my brilliance."  
"Still struggling to conquer your shyness, Sirius?"  
Sirius laughed and rolled the green apple over in his palm. "I just didn't want anything to happen to you, Jem."  
"Because without me you it will be substantially harder to prove your innocence."  
"Because I'm a good guy and I don't want young ladies to be locked away for no good cause."  
"Since when is murder not a good cause?"  
"Haven't we had this conversation before?"  
Jem laughed, a dry, humourless laugh, watching the muggles pass by the two virtually invisible wizards.  
"If I admit I'm not a murderer will you leave it?"  
"Would you believe it?"  
"You're really quite difficult, you know."  
"Oh, I know," Sirius smirked, rising to his feet and offering Jem his hand. "Would you like to accompany me to Scotland, my lady?"  
"Son we're finally going, then?"  
"That we are," said Sirius, slipping into the near-perfect imitation of Minerva McGonagall's Scottish accent he'd mastered when he himself was at Hogwarts.  
"Prat," said Jem affectionately, standing and taking Sirius' arms, stumbling slightly when he Apparated them to a Scottish hillside, right in the middle of a herd of sheep.

X

The Hogwarts express was crowded and packed full of kids, laughing and talking, and all of it gave Remus a headache. He found his way into an empty compartment and pulled his patched cloak over his head; eyes closed, and let himself drift off to sleep.  
And when he woke he nearly had a heart attack because James Bloody Potter was being attacked by a Dementor not two metres away from him.  
In the second it took to regain his senses, Remus figured that it wasn't James at all but Harry, and Remus' wand was drawn and a silver shield thrown up, throwing the Dementor back.  
Harry Potter – no one had ever mentioned just how much he looked like James – was lying on the floor of the train, unconscious, as a red haired boy, a ginger girl who must have been his sister, another bushy-haired girl and a round boy clutching a toad were crouching over him.  
After reviving Harry and handing out chocolate to the shaken students, Remus slipped out of the carriage, and bumped into a warm, solid body. He caught the person whom he'd walked into as they started to fall, and heard a loud "Oh!" echo down the corridor as he stared into the face of the young woman he'd come across in the village near his home the previous evening.  
"We're sort of making a habit of this, Miss Tonks," Remus said with a small grin, and watched her turn red. Literally, her hair went from violent pink to tomato red as she blushed, and he laughed. "You are Ted and Andy's daughter, right?"  
"Yeah," she replied, gazing up at him. Remus shifted uncomfortably. He hated when anyone looked at him too closely for too long – that lasting fear he's had as a child that he could be recognised as the monster he was had never quite left him.  
"Remus Lupin," he offered when she said nothing more. "I'm the new Defence teacher."  
"Ok," she said dreamily.  
"Are you alright? Did the Dementor affect you?"  
She seemed to snap out of whatever it was she needed to snap out of. "Oh, no I'm fine, thanks," she said. "I was coming to find a prefect or a teacher or anyone – my friend's sister, it came close to her and she started trembling and we don't know what's wrong with her."  
Remus followed Miss Tonks to a full compartment where a group of older girls were fussing over a girl about eleven, who was deadly pale and shaking violently. Remus gave her a large portion of chocolate, and he didn't miss the way Miss Tonks' eyes followed him as he left.  
She couldn't know about the furry little secret, could she? No one knew. They couldn't.  
So Remus swallowed his paranoia and went on his way.

X

Miss Henrietta Turpin had been a secretary in the Head of Magical Law Enforcement's office for seven months.  
Seven months of fetching Rufus Scrimgeour coffee. Seven months of organising Floo calls, seven months of fielding owls, seven months of telling journalists to bugger off because the office didn't share classified case details, seven months of pencil skirts and perfect hair and never having a day off.  
And suddenly Henrietta Turpin found herself in a predicament, and it was all Minerva McGonagall's fault, because once upon a time she'd thought it wise to pair together an outspoken blood-traitor Slytherin and a quite introverted Gryffindor together for a transfiguration assignment.  
And because Jemima Bloody Flint was an idiot.  
Really, though, because Henrietta had been minding her own business when an owl had dropped a letter on her desk.

_To the office of Mr Rufus Scrimgeour,  
_It had read,  
_my name is Lois Bones and just this afternoon I spotted the oddest thing; two figures apparating into my back paddock where my sheep graze, and I'm nearly positive it was Sirius Black and Jemima Flint!  
You could imagine my surprise, surely, but see, I knew Sirius Black many years ago (he was a friend of my Amelia) and I never quite believed he was guilty; perhaps when you recapture the poor boy he could get a proper trial? I am but a simple civilian, but I have proven to be a very wise witch, and if this letter leads to young Sirius getting a proper trial then I would be very grateful, and I'm sure he would be too.  
I live two miles out of the Scottish village Ottery St Catchpole. My farm is heavily warded against intruders, so if you come to investigate please owl ahead of time so I can lower the wards, unless you would like a backside full of painful boils.  
Sincerely,  
Lois Bones. _

Henrietta wasn't an idiot. She knew that if they were caught they'd be sent straight back to Azkaban and possibly Kissed (she shivered at the possibility) and she also knew that they were criminals.  
But she also knew that the Jem Flint she'd known had been a good person, a person not capable of murder, a kind person.  
And from what Lois Bones, as well as several other members of the wizarding community seemed to think, neither was Sirius Black.  
So Henrietta Turpin, who had never done anything rash or reckless in her life, hid the letter in her handbag and wrote a sneaky reply to it when she got home from work that evening.

_Dear Mrs Bones,  
Thank you for your information regarding the search for Sirius Black and Jemima Flint. Your information and opinion regarding Sirius Black's status as a criminal will be kept in mind. The Ministry of Magic will not need to investigate around your property, but it is in your best interests not to tell anyone what you saw in case Black or Flint catches word they were seen and come after you.  
I hope you understand that is in your best interests, for your own safety.  
Regards,  
Rufus Scrimgeour's Office. _

And then she burnt Mrs Bones' letter, and as she watched it turn to ash she hoped she was doing the right thing.  
And after that, she sent another owl.

_Harvey,  
it's been years since we've spoken, but it's Henrietta (Hattie) Turpin. We need to talk. Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron this Friday at eight thirty pm. Bring your memories of Hogwarts. It's about Jemima.  
-Hattie. _

X

"So this is your Shrieking Shack?" Jem asked dubiously. "I was expecting something creepy. Bloodstains on the wall, spider webs, some demons."  
The shack was small, dusty, scattered with broken furniture but it wasn't scary, not even slightly.  
"Hey, have some respect," Sirius chided her lightly, dropping himself into the only unbroken armchair. "This is our home now."  
"Oh, yes, very homely. I'll don an apron and back some muffins, shall I?"  
"Oh, yes, and I'll…" Sirius trailed off, suddenly serious (**A/N: pun intended, guys. Yes, I went there) **"Jem, what do normal house hold men do?"  
Jem was silent for a moment. "Erm. Build decks? Read the newspaper? My father used to invite his Death Eater buddies around for scotch. Once I slipped a hybrid of a Babbling Potion and a super strength Happy Potion in their drinks. Temporary insanity. Hilarious."  
Sirius blinked. "Why have I never thought of that? But I did spike Kreacher's – our old house elf – stew with polyjuice potion and turned the whole family into my little brother for an hour."  
Jem laughed, and sat on the armrest of the chair. She shot back, "My mother had this dog, one of those tiny yappy things, and I fed it polyjuice potion with rabbit fur in it. It grew massive ears and fangs. It was _terrifying, _and the best bit was it used to sleep with my sister, and she woke up in the middle of the night with this monster standing over her. Her scream could have woken the dead."  
"James was being really overdramatic once and Remus polyjuiced him into a woman so he could be a proper drama queen. But not any woman. He turned him into McGonagall."  
"I was doing a transfiguration assignment with this girl, Hattie, in the library and we accidentally transfigured this table into some kind of beast and in chased a group of Hufflepuff firsties around the castle for the hours before anyone could stop it."  
"James and I once accidentally reversed the gravity in the Great Hall and we had a floating breakfast."  
"Hattie and I Dumbledore's beard into a pumpkin patch one Halloween. We didn't even mean to, though."  
"Me and Remus bewitched suits of armour to do the hula."  
"You must miss them a lot."  
"Yeah," Sirius blinked. "Yeah, I do. Even Peter. Not who he became, but who he was. The funny, pudgy boy who was like my little brother." Suddenly Sirius found himself blinking back tears. "We were great, you know. Us Marauders."  
"I know. Even as a tiny first year I knew of your greatness. Mostly from the common room. Slytherins are whiny gits, you know."  
"I know you are," Sirius said, suddenly smiling again, and reached for Jem's hand. Jem, who usually hated contact, let him entwine their fingers and mutter something in her ear.  
"We were great," he said. "But you're my best friend now, you know that? And when all this is done I'm going to polyjuice Cornelius Fudge into a rabbit, in your honour."  
And that night, both curled up in the only bed in the place, Sirius thought that maybe, just maybe everything would be ok.

X

In the morning, Jemima Flint, big bad prison escapee, was cleaning.  
Sirius nearly burst out laughing.  
She was singing too, not too loudly, but just softly enough for him to make out the words.  
"_Half of what I say is meaningless, but I say it just to reach you, Julia, Julia, ocean child_…morning, Sirius…_when I cannot sing my heart, I can only speak my mind…"  
_"What are you _doing_?" Sirius asked, appalled.  
"Cleaning. You. You, Jemima, are cleaning."  
"Does it not compute?"  
"Negative," Sirius answered in a robotic voice, and then wondered if muggles had invented robots yet. He hoped so.  
"It's just; I've gone from a dusty old mansion to a filthy prison to an assortment of scummy hideouts. I want neat. I want clean. I want my allergies to stop. And if you, Sirius Black, ever call me Jemima again I will castrate you."  
"Right. Noted," Sirius said as she vanished another layer of duct with a simple cleaning charm. "What's with that song, anyway? It's different."  
"Different to what?"  
"Your song. The one about blackbirds."  
"Oh. That one. It's a different song. Not about blackbirds. About Julia."  
"I like the one about blackbirds better," said Sirius, and that was when he saw the figure moving outside through the gaps in the nailed up window boards, and pulled Jem down as five stunners flew through various windows.

**MWAHAHA. **

**CLIFFHANGER. **

**BECAUSE I'M EVIL-ISH. **

**THERE WAS SOMETHING I WANTED TO SAY HERE BUT I'VE FORGOTTEN IT. **

**BYE. **

**DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW. **

**-GNU XX**


End file.
